


Hyperventilation

by FelisRin



Category: Original Work
Genre: Apocalypse, Bleak, Horror, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26830480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelisRin/pseuds/FelisRin
Summary: A short story of the end of life on Earth, as the need to breathe becomes the downfall of every living thing.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Hyperventilation

**Author's Note:**

> A rapid little horror story I tapped out for October. This story is pretty much unedited, but I don't think I'm going to come back to it, so I apologize for any typos or inconsistencies.

At first, most didn’t notice it. Here and there someone might feel their stomach going sour a bit more often, or a few more dead ladybugs in their garden than usual, or a tree might seem a little too eager to turn its leaves in autumn, but the cases were isolated, often going unnoticed completely. It was like this for years. The first real notice anybody took was when entomologists here and there began recording sudden drops in various insect colonies. At first there was in fact a spike, as spiders and other tiny predators began to disappear and the threat they posed to their minute neighbors diminished, but then more and more of the many-legged dwellers of the air and the undergrowth began to vanish. At first, this was only seen in isolated pockets and assumed to be disconnected cases. Particularly, it was most noticeable in areas near volcanoes and fault lines, so eventually it was assumed to be due to some as-of-yet unrecorded tectonic phenomenon, but then it began to spread. Valuable pollinators disappeared from fields and forests and farms, and as the numbers of the arthropods dropped, so too did that of the creatures that feasted on them.

Still, that was the extent of it for a long, long time. Eventually the numbers of the insectivores stabilized, albeit at lower numbers than there’d been before. Farmers struggled to increase their yield, and those who held affection for birds or bats or tiny mammals in their hearts lamented the losses, but that was about the most of it. The crops continued to diminish, bit by bit, and while this was cause for considerable concern the world over, it was quickly overshadowed by the next, again seemingly unrelated phenomenon.

The first folks to truly suffer directly were those who had any sort of breathing issue. People whose lungs and hearts were weakened by age or asthma, or were choked by years of smoking or working jobs that were less-than-breathable, such as firemen and miners, reported more and more that even the mildest symptoms of their conditions had begun to trouble them considerably. Patients admitted to emergency rooms for breathing difficulties would recover upon being given oxygen directly, but immediately upon removal of the uninterrupted air from a ventilator would slip right back down to where they’d been. It wasn’t long before hospitals the world over were at capacity, past capacity, so full that eventually it was considered not even worth the attempt to try and see a doctor. Alongside this, patients with other serious issues, deprived of resources due to causes that were nobody’s fault, began to fade and die right alongside the Breathless, as they came to be called.

People mourned, governments tried to address the issue, scientists worked themselves to exhaustion trying to figure out the source of the Breathlessness. Even as the numbers of deaths began to fall, if only because those afflicted were dying too quickly for anyone to take their place, the human race found new reasons to panic. The bitterest, or perhaps most hateful of Darwinists declared it to overall be a boon to humanity, as the weakest members of the species had been culled en masse. Their opponents chastised them for their “misanthropic” views, and many religious groups held the opinion that what had happened was either God’s wrath or, more charitably, God’s way of easing the pain of many who had been suffering. Both sides thought it was the first sign of the end. Members of the medical community debated and researched and wondered whether or not the worst was over. All the while other events began occurring that, like the first signs, went largely unnoticed at first as the Breathlessness occupied the world’s attention.

Plants were beginning to die in greater numbers than before. Animals, especially young ones, were failing to survive. When this was noticed by naturalists and park workers and marine biologists, a number of theories arose. At the core of all of them was the question of whether the death of the plant life was the main cause of the deaths of the herbivores, and in turn the deaths of the carnivores – although it was almost universally acknowledged that this disruption of the food chain was at the absolute least a contributing factor – or if whatever was killing the plants was also directly killing the animals. The answer came when the Breathlessness surged again, this time in the healthy population.

Like everything before it, it was subtle at first. Shortness of breath was reported increasingly in the general public, but this time it was more rapidly acknowledged, and more quickly addressed. An initial effort was made to help those affected, but it quickly became evident that there would never be enough supplies; some called it a pandemic, some called it mass hysteria, but within the year, almost the entire world was Breathless.

Ironically, those living at high altitudes, where the air was thinner to begin with, were among the last to succumb. The Tibetan plateau, the Himalayas, the Alps, the Andes, all the places where the sky seemed closer than the ground, these places took the longest to feel the full sting of the Breathlessness. Other places with plenty of oxygen, still plenty of living trees and plants to make up for their dead brethren, these places went as quickly as anywhere else. And the fastest to go were the towns and valleys nestled in the shadows of volcanoes, and the cities built close to fault lines. Finally, years after the first reductions in the insect population had been noticed, a connection was drawn.

Researchers toiled and examined and dissected and cultivated. As the health of the people and natural world continued to decline at an alarming rate, a microbiologist noticed offhand that, at long last, aerobic bacteria were becoming harder and harder to culture, though anaerobic bacteria were not. At long last, a theory, at first mocked and dismissed, but soon recognized as the best lead anyone had, was put forth: this was not some plague that had crossed not only the human-animal barrier but the barrier even between the taxonomic kingdoms and perhaps even domains. The problem, it seemed, was the air itself. Something was happening to the Earth’s very atmosphere, something which had somehow gone completely undetected, yet was toxic to absolutely anything that needed to breathe.

The search for the culprit continued, while among the public at large tactics changed. Gone was the hope of being saved in a hospital. Instead, masks, then suits took prominence, anything that could separate a person and filter out whatever it was in the air that was killing them. Homelessness dropped sharply, but so too did poverty in general. After all, those who could not afford to isolate their bodies from the air were doomed to die. Over the next few years, ventilated shelters and apartment complexes, sealed off but for loading docks that brought in food – what little could be grown and reared in the equivalent “Airless Farms” that is. The wealthiest could afford private homes of this sort. Some could even afford to continue keeping pets, though the veterinary field had just about collapsed, and so animals’ lifespans were greatly reduced anyway. A sealed world, a quiet world, which over a few years became devoid of any colors but the brown of the ground and dead vegetation, or the still-pristine blue of the sea and sky. Corpses of wildlife were everywhere, decomposition slowed thanks to the death of the bacteria and fungi that would have otherwise moved it along, never mind the insects and scavengers that would have taken the largest bits. The scavengers themselves had thrived for only the briefest of periods directly after nature began to die, then they too succumbed to the unknown, invisible poison they drew in with every breath.

Funerals were short affairs. So much death had occurred that it was difficult to care anymore, and bodies were simply taken down to the loading docks of whatever building the deceased had dwelled in before and tossed outside onto the ground, the only real effort made otherwise being simply to make sure the corpse wouldn’t block incoming food trucks, rare as those were. The dead lay about wherever there was space, their bodies slowly turning into little more than black sludge as the anaerobic bacteria ate away at them – the only living things that really seemed to be benefitting anymore. And there was indeed a feast for them. Illnesses skyrocketed, the Breathlessness still charging in every time a loading dock door was opened and creeping in because, as nobody would ever discover but was true all the same, the ventilation systems could only do so much. Less once the filters ran out and old ones had to be reused, until nobody bothered to even change them anymore. Aside from the Breathlessness robbing everyone’s cells of air and weakening their immune systems, the good bacteria within the human bodies were also largely wiped out. Chronic stomach pains and diarrhea were considered normal anymore, as the broken-down plumbing could attest to once the public workers died out or simply stopped coming to work, too overwhelmed to continue.

When the Airless Farms also ceased to function and the truck drivers abandoned their vehicles, and the electricity gave out and the faucets stopped working, only then did people begin to brave Earth’s deadly air in search of water, food, clean clothes and blankets, anything at all they might use to live a bit longer. Those who’d resorted to cannibalism took a bit longer, but in the end the results were ultimately the same. If it had not been for the Breathlessness in the first place, they might have managed to scrape by at this point. The world would have been a lawless, sick place, but there might have been just enough for the last humans to live on for another year or two, and in their bodies perhaps just enough single-celled organisms to continue life itself, but that was not the case.

They went outside. They found a bit of food and plenty of water, for the weather had never changed. They breathed in. And then, before long, they died. Some stayed in and lived a bit longer, but they too died all the same, be it from starvation or thirst or the Breathlessness seeping in through broken filters and loading docks improperly closed, or left open altogether. By now even the anaerobic bacteria were dying, and soon, the last gasping breath of the last living human sounded, and then went quiet.

Despite their great progress, nobody ever discovered the Breathlessness’ ultimate cause, what vile component had seeped from the Earth and into the life-giving air. They would never know if there had been a way to stop it, although many suspected that there wouldn’t be, given the sheer scale of it all, and once the world had broken down enough all research had stopped anyway. Once the last human died, the only sounds ever heard again were that of the wind, and of the ocean, and of the rain.

...

It was born in fire. Born in a loud, silent, dark, blindingly bright chaos that ached and soothed and felt indescribably painful from the moment It became aware of Itself. It watched as vast bodies flew by, some even colliding with It, one eventually staying to run silent circles around it, Its only friend in this chaotic bliss, and even then the friend pulled at It ever so slightly, tugging and warping and giving It no peace. It did not know why or how It came to be, but It decided that It liked all of this, even as the chaos calmed and It could see more clearly Its siblings in the distance, their own friends circling them tirelessly as they all loped in slow, lazy circles around the Bright in the middle of them all. It liked this. This was proper. This was right.

It went in Its circle for a long time, realizing that to continue required no effort on Its part. It enjoyed the ride and stared at the Bright, and at Its siblings, their friends and Its own, and the vast nothing with even more Brights far in the distance. This, It decided, was perfection.

As Its body cooled and hardened, It began to feel tired, and since It did not need to try to keep circling, It allowed itself to slip into a deep sleep. In Its sleep, it sometimes felt Things. It heard Things. Vaguely, in Its sleeping mind, It heard a nearby sibling panic and begin to breathe rapidly, hyperventilating until whatever had frightened the sibling had gone away, and the sibling could go back into its own sleep. It paid little mind. It slept, and It twitched every now and then as It felt the Things around it, on it, within it, but It would always return to the darkness of the very deepest rest, never waking up all the way.

A long time later, or only a short time, It began to awaken, to slowly come back into consciousness after Its little nap. It wasn’t sure what exactly had woken It up, and It wondered about this for a bit, but the wonder faded as It became fully aware of the Things. Things, all over It, in It, around It. Moving Things, stationary Things, small Things, big Things, all of them causing Its mind to prickle and panic.

A few bits and pieces of debris floated at the edges of Its space, and these It might have tolerated, but Its friend seemed to be calming down from a similar panic attack, Things having visited and left marks and debris on the friend’s skin. In the distance, a few of Its siblings also seemed to be nervous, debris having flown near to or even settled on them as well. It only gave all of this a brief consideration.

The Things that moved were awful, treading upon and sliding through and digging within Its body. Some of them would leave Its skin for a brief time, but only to slip through the space right next to It and then come back down again. Some of them were small, so very very small, but still It felt them, even if most of the Things didn’t seem to notice them. If these Things were terrible, the Things that didn’t move were even worse. They drove bits of themselves into Its skin, and It realized that these Things did move, just more slowly. They moved the most when they grew, or fell, or were moved by other Things. The only places that felt right and proper to It still were the spots where Things, moving or not, were eaten up by fire. That felt good. That soothed the ache and the itch.

It held Its breath, waited. Waited for the Things to go away, to stop moving for good, to leave It alone. But no matter how long It waited, the Things remained. The itching, creeping horror finally became too much for It, and as It continued to feel Things all over and within Its body, It began to breathe again. Slowly at first, then more and more quickly as the horror and madness induced by the Things consumed It, until It was breathing so quickly It could barely concentrate. As It hyperventilated, Its breath became trapped around It, enveloping It in a soothing blanket. In this way, It endured Its panic attack. Finally, as It managed to calm down, a long time or a few moments later, It paused and listened.

The Things were still there, but they didn’t move anymore. Tentatively, It took a deep breath and began to relax again. It waited a long time, just to make sure they were all still, but aside from a few of the Things being moved by the air or falling over as they withered, they were finally quiet. Finally It could relax. Finally It could rest. Finally, the Earth could go back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Ironically, this was NOT inspired by the COVID-19 pandemic, but I did realize the parallels as I was writing it. These were unintentional - I was actually more inspired by the podcast "Old Gods of Appalachia" and what little I know of "Angel Notes." The idea of a conscious Earth that hates or fears not just humanity, but all living things is one I don't recall ever coming across before (though I'm sure others have explored it before). I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading!


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